


The Tower - Origins: Brynjolf

by LittleMissSyreid



Series: The Tower: Series [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard, Asgard (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissSyreid/pseuds/LittleMissSyreid
Summary: In the run up to the sequel of my fairytale mash-up, The Tower, discover the story of everybody's favourite dwarf and how he came to meet our intrepid heroes...Capital Craft Mining was a well-established mining company, owned by Brynjolf, the revered and respected. In winter, they work; in summer, they sell. It was a profitable business for all involved. However, a mining accident leaves a small band of them fearing for their lives as the dust settles in their lungs and the fears grow like algae. The events that follow lead the group to discover a brand new resource that would change their fates forever...





	1. Chapter 1

“You did what?”  
“I… I killed them, love. All three of them.”

The two of you hadn’t been long retired. It was in the middle of changing into your nightwear that Loki had confessed – quite out of nowhere – that he’d “murdered” the bandits who’d kidnapped you.

“Worse than that I… I turned them on each other.” You pulled the nightshirt firmly down by its hem before lowering yourself onto the bedside. Loki sat beside you. “I told them to fight each other and that the victor would survive – before I slaughtered him too. I could’ve turned them in, I could’ve let them rot in jail, and justice would’ve been served. But I didn’t. At the first opportunity, I picked up a blade. Because I wanted to. Because I… I got a thrill out of it. You said that the part of me capable of murder had perished in the Tower, but I fear that… that it’s as much a part of me as the hands that bore the weapon.”  
“Is this you advocating that I should chop off your hands?”  
“No, I– Are you laughing? Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” Biting your lip, you turned away and shrugged. “I appreciate you telling me, but you really haven’t thought about this have you? Aside from how it can earn you some pity.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Must I explain everything to you? Solve all of your problems?”

Loki scoffed and stood up, his hands on his hips. You watched him pace, debating whether to make a smart comment or simply stay quiet. What was he missing that was apparently _so_ obvious? You kept your hands neatly folded in your lap; finally, with a wave of his hand, you were permitted to speak.   
“Alright, let me make this easy for you: would you say the same of the guards who stand at the gates of our home, bearing swords on their hips?”

After moment of careful consideration, Loki sighed curtly.   
“No, but they only use their weapons when a threat is posed, not before. I was the threat to those men in the woods.” You raised an eyebrow.   
“And did those ‘men’ in the words draw their weapons before or after you revealed yourself to them?”

Loki thought back; he’d only spoken to them. Yes, his intention had been to frighten them, but they’d have no way of knowing that he meant harm when they reached for their blades. You began to toy with the edge of your shirt.  
“And as far as I’m concerned, they lost any right to f-fair treatment when they considered… having their way with me.” Immediately, Loki’s shoulders dropped. He placed his hands over yours.   
“I’m sorry; I don’t mean to make you relive painful memories.”

“Would you question yourself about this if they’d actually done it?” You asked, somewhat pointedly. Loki blinked.   
“I beg your pardon?”  
“Well, I passed out shortly afterwards. They could’ve changed their mind on the journey and I wouldn’t have known. If they’d actually done it, would you feel guilty about taking their lives?”  
“Not at all.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing you needn’t say any more. Loki was a little concerned; before you’d fallen into his life, you’d been innocent. You’d believed in punishment after the crime. Now you’d been hardened by all you’d seen. There was something seething within you that he didn’t like. Anger. Upset.

With nothing more than a reluctant smile, Loki admitted defeat, turned, and fell dramatically backwards onto the mattress.   
“Yes, thank you, Madam Smug. You’ve made your point.”  
“Which is?”  
“There’s a difference between murder and… what I did.”

You smiled and fell back also, lying next to him and letting your fingers wander amongst his.   
“The ruler of this realm deals with his problems by picking up a giant hammer and smashing them to pieces. Bandits police country roads; aliens are a threat at every waking moment. We cannot afford to walk this world without a means of defending ourselves. To do so would be ignorant to the threats which we constantly face.”

“When did you get so wise?” Loki asked, lifting his head when there came an abrupt knock at the bedroom door. You sat up and stood to answer it, talking over your shoulder as you did so.   
“I expect it happened when I started solving other people’s problems.”

You swung open the door to see Brynjolf, wringing his hands.   
“Have ye’ got a minute to talk?”

* * *

 

The shadows of the deep Asgardian caverns seemed to move of their own accord. It was hot, dark, and dusty. Every member of the mining group that explored its depths bore two handkerchiefs in their pockets; one for generic handkerchief uses, and another for wiping the sweat from their brow. They could taste the soot on their tongue, the salt of their sweat. Chapped lips welcomed the flask of water that was passed from hand to hand.

Capital Craft Mining had a team totalling about 60 to 70 miners, led by the company's creator, Brynjolf, a man of fiery temper and equally fiery hair. His group sold to doctors and small-town healers mainly; they were the premium source of a mineral called 'Anaesthenium' that could be ground down into a fine powder for pain relief and numbing salves. During the winter months, the men would disappear into darkness in search of the mineral before surfacing in the summer to sell it all on.

Winter had arrived once again.

Brynjolf had split off with ten of his miners into a narrow tunnel walking south. A vein of Anaesthesium was visible to their left and the plan was to follow it along until they reached a large source of the stuff or it ran dry, at which point they could work their way back up and mine the mineral along the way.

"How's everybody farin'?" Bryn shouted. 9 cries in the affirmative settled his stomach considerably. Despite them being his employees, Brynjolf cared for every member of his organisation like they were blood. And they were. They slept together, ate together, worked together. Many of his men had been taken on at a young age, when their options of employment were few and far between. 0.They were indebted to Brynjolf for providing hot food and a living wage, and he was equally appreciative, for these men were often the most hard-working and loyal.

"Vein's run dry," called a familiar voice, Ellgar. "I say we start digging our way back up to the rendesvouz."  
"Sounds like a plan. Boys? Spirits up, picks down."

And so the tunnel that had formerly been filled with nothing more than shuffling steps was suddenly aburst with song. Tuneful whistles of the dwarfs that populated it; their musicality had been improved and refined over the years. An hour later they stopped to snack, before picking up their tools once more and returning to the job at hand. Business as usual.

Brynjolf felt inspired by his work. The steady rhythm of his axe against rock. Lift, swing, crack. Again. Lift, swing, crack. Again. His body was used to the toil like a baby was used to a bottle.

Others in his group, however, were newer. Less practiced. They knew to lift and swing – but where the metal cracked against the wall was a mystery. After all, one wrong move and they'd bring down a rain of stone. Heavy and hard. Fatal.

Unfortunately, today was one of those days.

Ellgar hadn't seen the fracture as anything more than a crag. A hole. Nothing to worry about, he'd thought, as he'd sunk his pickaxe into it. Perhaps my efforts will loosen the rock, and make the Anaesthesium easier to harvest!

And loosen the rock it did. It was simply a miscalculation as to _which_ rock.

Brynjolf heard the danger before he saw it. Ellgar sunk his axe into the crag and had already begun to lift it for another crack. Same spot. Brynjolf leapt forward and grabbed the handle, holding it mid air as he turned his ear up.

The stone rumbled... It hummed...

"Everybody, further in - this place is coming down!" He screamed, voice breaking slightly. Quick as a whip, heads turned and legs moved. You didn't second guess the threat of a collapse; nobody would every joke. Those who did weren't around to tell the tale.

Every man under his command followed the dying echo of Brynjolf's words as they dissipated against the growing thunder. Though the way down was steep, a deathly incline of smooth and lumpy rock, the men manoeuvred it with skill and grace.

Juxtaposing the gentle increase of the grumbling, rumbling rock, a boulder – about the size of a a pig's bladder – became dislodged above their heads. It hit the floor with a crunch, bassy and thick, frightening the men it had failed to crush. One of the almost-victims, Oris, stumbled and fell. He slid down the bumpy slide until he hit somebody’s feet. Brynjolf picked Oris up and heaved him onto his feet.

Bryn didn't intend to go anywhere. Not yet. He wasn't moving until every one of his men had gone first.

Pebbles and rubble shivered all around him, sinking into view and causing barricades with every step. Ellgar trembled as much as the mines.   
"I- I'm sorry, Bryn. I didn't realise-"  
"Quit yammerin' and haul ass. We don't outrun this, ye' won't have the heart left to apologise from the bottom of."

As larger and larger debris fell from the ceiling, the speed of the fleeing miners increased. Down, down, down like rabbits in a hole. Brynjolf’s heart was in his ears, the only place he could hear his thundering heartbeat over the chaos of the collapse.

When he spotted a cave in the distance – a small divet in the wall – it sped up exponentially.   
“There – the cave, lads. Move, move, move!” Their hearts were hammering, their mouths were dry, and even their bones rattled with fear.

They huddled together in the small alcove, holding onto each other for comfort and strength. Every day in the mines was a risk; every man who entered held Death's hand as he did so. However, for every day that nothing happened, their confidence grew. They grew careless – and this was the result. When the ten finally emerged from their hiding hole, several terror-filled minutes later, the world had changed significantly...


	2. Chapter 2

It had been 5 days since the cave-in.

5 days in darkness. 5 days rationing food, and drinking water from the walls. When the rocks had collapsed, their way in (and consequently, their way out) had been blocked off.

With every hour they were under, tensions rose. The men grew bitter, and with their bitterness they grew fierce.   
"What are we waiting for?" Brynjolf snapped, breaking silence like it was a brittle twig. "Rescue? The lads up top don't even know stuff's wrong yet. They isn't comin' up for air until the end of this here week. We'll be dead before they is starting diggin'."  
"Well, what else can we do?" asked Oris, who touched his twisted ankle tenderly. It was more or less healed, but it stung as much as his pride. Nobody else had slipped over like he had.

Brynjolf tugged his beard once or twice, then stood up.   
"What we does best, boys. We's going to dig."

The pickaxe on his shoulder wobbled as he waddled over to the nearest wall, and began to swing. Lift, swing, crack. Again.   
"Brynjo-"

Crack.

"Brynjolf, come on, it's-" Crack.   
"Save your energy and you'll last longer."

"But what's I lasting for?" He spun around, his axe still bared for another blow. "I told ye'. Nobody's coming. If I die trying to get us all outta here, then so be it."

His speech was not what could be described as 'empowering'. However, it did lift a few of the stronger men off of their arses to help. It should be noted that not all of the mining company were in fact dwarves. Of course, there were plenty, but Brynjolf's company had been indiscriminate in its want for helping hands. Asgardians, Dwarves, even the few Vasir mucked together to break through the stone.

Perhaps a higher power watched over them; perhaps one of the Norn’s was inspired by the teamwork and integrity displayed. True comradery. Or maybe they simply knew better, and could see what lay on the other side of that particular sheet of rock... And maybe they wanted to see what the desperate group would make of it.

"Did... Did we do it?" A smaller voice at the back asked when a hole appeared in the wall. Brynjolf shrugged and began to pull away at the edges with his hands. To be honest, he couldn't see past his own nose. Even as he pulled away at the edges of the hole to make it wider, there was no telling what they'd encountered aside from darkness.

However, some of the group were willing to risk it as someone shoved their way to the front. It was one of the newer lads. His first cave-in. Understandably, he was eager to get out of it. So when Brynjolf stuck his arm and stopped him disappearing into the darkness, the look he received was – to put it mildly – foul.

"Anybody got a match?" Bryn asked. After a brief scuffling and shuffling, a match was passed to the front, lit, and tossed into the cavern. Brynjolf squinted as he watched it, waiting for the glowing to die. But it didn't.   
"It's breathable then," said the impulsive boy as he stepped further inside.

That was when the cavern exploded.

Brynjolf's back hit the wall. Hard. Pain careered through him in crashing waves, drowning him and stealing all of his breath away. After sinking to the floor, he crawled forward, coughing and shivering. He could taste blood in his mouth, and there was a wetness behind his ear as well. Weary and blurred eyesight showed him the horrors that had come to his friends. His family.

Ellgar's crimson-covered boot jutted out from under a significant pile of rubble. Another dwarf ran around in circles, flames on his clothing biting and scratching his skin. His face was but a ghost of itself, boils and burns distorting him like a candle distorted wax.

Oris, the poor boy, looked terrified. Rabbit-like. On his weak ankle, he stumbled further into the newly revealed cavern, the only way away from the commotion. Brynjolf wanted to yell out his name, plead with him to stop, to slow, but just as he reached out his hand, Oris slipped on a rock and fell. His skull hit the floor and began to bleed.

So much heartache in one explosion. What _was_ that stuff?

Clearing the soot and soil from his throat, Brynjolf heaved himself onto heavy feet. He could see Oris' frail body lying in the cavern, surrounded by a strange new mineral. This stuff... It was unlike anything they'd encountered before. Grey like stone, yet brittle and volatile. Explosive. It shone white in the sunlight like–

_Sunlight._

Brynjolf's pace quickened, albeit with a limp. Despite the protests from his terrified teammates, he stumbled into the cavern besides Oris corpse. Except, it wasn’t a corpse… The boy was still alive! A gentle sunbeam warmed his face, dust swirling under his nose with every sleeping breath that escaped him. They were jagged and turmoiled but they were there at least.

Bryn turned his head to follow the stream of gold sunbeams and saw that the tumultuous explosion had travelled quite a way. No doubt the wildlife up top had been in for a shock. Sunlight breached the darkened room; a sign of hope; of comfort and safety; of life beyond. The surface. And the salvation they’d dreamt of for 5 days.

As a team, rocks were manoeuvred to the bottom of the hole, creating a staircase up. It was a narrow shaft that had been blown open, but the fire in their bellies made light work of it as they wriggled to freedom.

Being careful not aggravate any more of the dangerous mineral, Brynjolf lifted Oris into his arms and began his own steady, treacherous climb back home.


	3. Chapter 3

Oris had been in and out of sleep for quite some time. Grunting. Whimpering. Every so often, when he rolled the wrong way, pain bit at his brain like a dog had clamped its jaws round his head. Teeth sunk into his skull and sent tendrils of frightful nightmares coursing through his mind’s eye. When he felt a pair of bracing hands behind his skull, however, the dog relented.

Brynjolf was careful when adjusting the pack behind the sleeping boy’s head. He’d been sweating for hours, moaning and softly whining in his comatose state. The nasty wound on his temple had all but healed, a terrific scar now stretching from his cheek upwards. It didn’t look good, but at least he was alive.

Qilto – one of the older recruits, an Asgardian – looked up from his meal when he noticed that Brynjolf had once again left to play nurse. He was a baby-faced fellow, large brown eyes and black hair in a small bun.   
“How is he?” asked he to his boss, a mouthful of bread distorting his words.   
“He’ll live, I should think,” was his reply. Brynjolf finished mithering, wiped his hands on his trousers, and joined his friends by the hearth.

Strangely, the heat from the fire felt different to that of the sweaty, sticky caves under the earth. It seemed calming and inviting. Comforting. It stole away the shiver from their bones and softened the frantic beating of their hearts. To think they’d been so close to death… Qilto and Brynjolf were joined by two more Asgardian recruits; all others had chosen their bedrolls over nourishment. Safrat (Saf to anybody he wasn’t in trouble with) and Araloic. They too slurped hungrily at the hastily made broth in their bowls. It had been a troubling day; even the hardest of stomachs were now hungry.

For a while, they simply talked. All men were grateful to have company, and just for that moment, all seemed right with the world. The gentle hum of bugs in the bushes; a playful wind kissing their cheeks.

When the conversation died down a bit, Brynjolf rolled his shoulders stretched. He’d been working on a little… side-project since they’d emerged from the mines that day. He wasn’t sure if it would come to anything as he picked up the pestle and mortar by his feet, but curiosity had overwhelmed him.

“Whatcha got there, boss?” Saf suddenly said, cutting his previous conversation in two. Safrat was a wiry man, with a fuzzy grey beard and silver hair to match. A severe underbite gave him the appearance of a man without sense, but this could not have been further from the truth.   
“I’m not sure yet,” Bryn replied with a shrug. “Nothing at the minute.”

That part was the truth. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at currently. What he’d neglected to share was that he knew what it used to be. Anaesthesium, crushed to a fine powder and mixed with the newly discovered mineral, which he’d started calling Bangstone. He’d collected some samples after he’d passed Oris’ body up through the tunnel to freedom. No harm in looking, right? It was only research.

A few minutes later and Brynjolf was happy that he’d finished, even if he wasn’t sure what he’d made.   
“Do you know what it is yet?” Qilto chuckled. Brynjolf grimaced.   
“I know what I was wantin’ it to be, but I don’t know if it’ll work.”  
“Well, what did you want it to be?”

Brynjolf scratched his bearded chin.   
“Well, it’s… it’s that stuff we found down there. The… The Bangstone.”  
“Bangstone?” Saf and Araloic snickered.  
“You’s two got a better name? It’s the Bangstone and some Anaesthesium. I figured if I could get the stuff into some sort of container, we could use it around the borders of the camp. Keep the wildlings at bay without ‘em getting killed.”

Qilto raised an eyebrow, and slowly turned to his friends. If the look in their eyes was anything to go on, they’d thought the same thing as him.   
“Boss… Can I make a suggestion?”  
“Course.”

“That’s a bit of a soft approach, ain’t it?”  
“Soft?” Brynjolf recoiled. “I ain’t soft!”  
“No, no, we’s not saying _you’re_ soft. We’re just saying you could do one better.”  
“Such as?”

After a few shifty looks and a few toes in the soil, Araloic finally spoke up.   
“Boss, you could see that to mercs for quite the price.”

“What? Mercs?”  
“Think about it,” Qilto cut in, shuffling closer with his hand outstretched, fully prepared to explain. “We could double our asking price; double our profits!”

Laughter was not the response they’d anticipated but it was one they got nonetheless.   
“Firstly,” Brynjolf said, wiping away a tear, “I don’t think you fellas understand the maths enough. Doubling what we ask don’t double our profits if we’re doin’ twice the work to make something.”

They couldn’t ask for that. Safrat glared at Qilto a little for not thinking things all the way through.   
“Secondly, have you got rocks for brains or did you not see how dangerous that stuff was?” As if on cue, Oris began to groan in his sleep again. Qilto bowed his head ashamedly. “Some of us died today, another barely survived, and all yous lot can think of is the profits to be made off the shite that did it.”

“Don’t you run a business?” Safrat growled, displeased by the callous insult. Brynjolf frowned.   
“I does, yeah. But I don’t run it on the blood of peoples.”  
“Oh come on,” Qilto continued. He stood up suddenly, hoping to make his point a little more dramatically. “Every time we go down there, we’s riskin’ our necks, Bryn. What’s a little more risk?”

“I wasn’t on about your blood,” Brynjolf said lowly.

Qilto paced a little before flopping onto ground at his friends’ feet. He was sulking, and was doing nothing to hide it. Oris’ groaning in the distance grew louder, and turned Brynjolf’s head.   
“We start selling bombs to people and the bodies line up,” he said, standing up and kicking a hole into the soil with his boot. He promptly poured the powder inside and covered it up again. “Anaesthesium or no, we ain’t doin’ it. And that’s final.”


	4. Chapter 4

Brynjolf awoke with a start the next morning. The sun was high overhead and a few of the lads were pottering around camp: cleaning ash from the campfire, washing dishes, keeping watch. Truly, in that waking moment, Bryn couldn’t have felt prouder. A near death experience and still they soldiered on.

“Someone’s asking for you,” a Vasir woman said with a smile as she lifted a heavy log of firewood from her back and set it down over the old kindling.   
“He’s awake?”   
“So I’m told.”

* * *

 

“Hey boss,” Oris mumbled, the left side of his mouth not quite keeping up with the right. The scar on his face looked a lot better in the morning light. Less enflamed.   
“Hey there, kiddo. How’re you feelin’?”

Apparently, not well. The second he was asked, Oris’ eyes seemed to glaze over. He licked his lips nervously and tried to sit up.   
“Woah, woah,” Brynjolf chuckled, holding him down and adjusting the sheet over his legs. “Where do ye’ think you’re scurryin’ off to?”  
“The mines, I have to-”  
“What?”  
“The mines, Bryn, we have to seal them up.”

Brynjolf insisted that Oris lie down again, slow down, explain what happened. Reluctantly, the boy obliged. That look in his eyes… It was like he’d aged a decade overnight.   
“I can’t explain it, Brynjolf. That stuff? It was more than just an explosive. I couldn’t sense anything whilst I was under. It was… _worse_ than being unconscious. It felt like I’d died and come back. Cold as a corpse, I bet.”

Swallowing thickly, Brynjolf scratched the back of his neck. He’d been rolling round and groaning for days, but hadn’t known anything of it? That was… worrisome, to say the least.   
“We’ll cover it up,” Oris stammered, “right, boss? We won’t let this stuff get out?”

In his mind’s eyes, Brynjolf was thinking about the pestle and mortar from last night. He’d buried the powder, sure, but he’d still toyed with the idea of using the stuff. Even after seeing what it had done to Oris. There was no debating any longer. This stuff had to be hidden away.   
“You betcha breeches,” he smiled, patting the boy’s hand. “Ain’t nobody gonna know about this stuff except us, I promise; nobody else getting’ hurt.”

This seemed to relax Oris and his youthful side promptly returned to him as he lay his head down and smiled.   
“You just rest up, ye’ hear? We’ll have you back in the fray in no time.”

Before Brynjolf could up and leave, however, Oris sat up again.   
“Can I get some food?”

Bryn smiled warmly. The boy was going to be fine.

* * *

 

With a freshly cleaned bowl in his hand, Brynjolf whistled as he wandered towards the campfire. Hopefully there was still some soup from last night ready and waiting. Sure enough, the bowl was still hung over the ashen pit, despite having long gone cold.

That was not the only thing to catch his eye, however. As he walked past the log pit he’d sat on the night before, he noticed the disturbed soil. Dug up. And empty. The powder would’ve been useless once it mixed with the soil but… to three idiots who didn’t know the first thing about alchemy, it would be a starting guide. The Idiot’s Guide to Making Explosives.

Brynjolf dropped the bowl. Immediately, he began yelling demands as he marched towards the mouth of the caves.   
“You there, I want a count of this morning’s Anaesthesium, and I want it compared to yesterdays.”  
“Yes boss!”

Of course, he didn’t need the count to know what had happened. The tunnel down to the Bangstone had already been boarded up. Shoddily. Like someone was trying to make a quick getaway. The Vasir woman from earlier, Sareash, jogged to his side, a little out of breath but red in the face for other reasons also.   
“Boss, there’s… there’s been a development.”  
“They’ve robbed some of our Anaesthesium?”  
“Y-Yes, I– How did you know?”  
“Because I gave ‘em the idea. The fucking bastards.”

Sareash looked a little taken aback.   
“Sorry, Bryn, but I don’t understand.”  
“You don’t need to yet. Gather everyone together. I wants a word with ‘em all.”

The notice that Brynjolf wanted to speak to the entire staff spread quickly; nobody liked Brynjolf in a bad mood. This was in part due to their love and respect for him. After all, whoever was despicable enough to upset Brynjolf deserved a thousand deaths. However, it was also partly because nobody had ever truly seen Brynjolf enraged before. ‘Twas such a rare occurrence that it was entirely justified for people to fear the consequences of it.

However, when Brynjolf stoof in front of his people, clad in armour and apparently prepared to leave them, he spoke with a solemnity and calm. To a few, that was even more worrying. They’d have preferred him to shout and scream.

“…yet despite my warnings, despite the deaths of the friends, and despite the turmoil inflicted upon one of our own–“ Brynjolf locked eyes with Oris, who was watching and listening from the bedroll that had been moved to the fireside, “–they stole the bread from our tables anyway. They seek to hurt people, to sell to those who would hurt people, despite what they may say about the Anaesthesium’s effects.”

A few of the crowd shuffle uncomfortably. After all, Qilto, Safrat, and Araloic were friends to many of them – or so they thought.  
“Any of ye’ who wants into that business is welcome to leave Capital Craft Mining right now, and have a headstart on me catching ‘em.”

Nobody moved a muscle.

This settled the anger in Brynjolf’s heart a notch.   
“Tha’s alright then. Means the bad eggs are few and far between.”

Bowing his head, Brynjolf let his shoulders slump and his expression soften.   
“This… This is my fault, lads, so I’m gonna fix it. However I can. You ‘ave me word.” Oris watched him with a soft expression that was a mixture of concern and adoration. Bryn couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye again. To think that someone else might end up in a worse state than that poor boy, because of him? That wasn’t something he intended to let his conscience bare.

“Sareash, they’re all yours.”  
“I’ll be back when I catch these fuckers, or when I’m out of food. One or the other.”

And just like that, he was gone. Hard on the trail of those who’d betrayed him, Brynjolf couldn’t have guessed how much more the fates had in store for him.

* * *

 

The sun peeked over the horizon, spilling orange and gold into the bedroom. You didn’t realise it was possible for Brynjolf’s hair to look even more like fire.   
“So… t-there ye’ have it. I wanted to… make peace with it. With you.”

You frowned and wrung the nightshirt between your hands. Conflicted wasn’t half of what you were feeling. Yet he kept talking.  
“It was my people who found that stuff, it was my people who robbed from me, but worse than that… it was I who made them bombs that– that did ye’ wrong.”

Loki had listened for as long as he was able, but ultimately he’d passed out on the bedspread, leaving you and Bryn to talk alone. The two of you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, close and across from each other, meaning you couldn’t avoid the look of worry in his eyes as it was cast upon you.

“I… I don’t blame you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you said. Brynjolf didn’t believe you – and he was right not to. The look on your face did little to quell him of the concerns that you were holding him accountable. Of course, you were completely within your right to do so, even if it would break his heart.

“This’ll, uh, take some time to sink in, I wager,” he said with a brisk smile. When you didn’t reply, he placed his hands on his knees and stood up. He’d reached the bedroom door when you called out for him to wait.

You approached him tentatively, before bending down and pulling him into one of his own spine-crushing hugs (or, at least, your best impression of one).   
“I… I don’t understand,” he said once he’d been released.   
“You saved my life.”  
“But-”  
“And I’m not talking about when you found me by the waterfall. Yes, that still counts, but everything after that does too. You stayed with me in case Loki had ulterior motives–” As if on cue, Loki snored loudly, and you winced, before trying to cover a grin with your hand. Bryn rolled his eyes at your partner, “–and you found us food when neither could leave the Tower. You risked everything to rescue me from my village, you followed me all the way to the capital city to make sure I was alright… You gave me a family when I had none left.”

Clearing his throat, Brynjolf rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. He wasn’t crying, of course. He just had… itchy eyes. A very common condition amongst dwarves, actually. Very, very common. Completely undocumented, but very common. You gave him a watery smile and laughed lightly.

“I don’t care about the circumstances that brought us together, Bryn. I care about everything after, and you’ve more than made up for it.”  
“Really?”   
“Of course! What, did you think I wouldn’t be able to forgive my dad?”

Brynjolf was still rubbing his eyes and chuckled more than once.   
“You’re a good’un, lady, you know that?”  
“Stop worrying so much,” you said warmly, bending over and planting a kiss on his cheek. “That’s my job.”

After a curt sigh, Bryn patted your cheek and apologised for keeping you up to lament. You dismissed his worries immediately, telling him that if he was so worried, he ought to go to bed himself. Reluctantly, he agreed and bid you a good… Well, a good morning. It really had been a long and arduous night for everybody. Somehow, though, you hoped it might have been worth it.

Once you’d shut the bedroom door, you turned around, stretching – to find Loki sat upright on the bed.   
“You called him your dad,” he said bluntly. You scowled.   
“I _knew_ you weren’t sleeping! What, did you think there’d be more secrets shared if we thought you weren’t listening?”

“Don’t change the topic,” he continued, never taking his eyes off of you as the bed covers were lifted and you slipped inside. “You called him dad.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Loki, now please. I want to sleep.”

Loki rolled his eyes and relented – for now. This wouldn’t be something he’d forget easily, if at all. Least of all because he knew what paternal figures meant to you both. However, for the time being, he’d let you have your sleep, because… Well, because he knew what paternal figures meant to you both.

“I love you so much,” he said, pressing the lightest of kisses against the shoulder closest to him. “Sweet dreams, love of mine.”

And so, the two of you finally found peace in the comfort of the night. Of course, there was trouble in both of your minds that would not dissipate as easily as in your dreams, but for that singular solitary moment, the world was quiet and all was well. That was how you wished it to stay. And that was how it ought to stay.

After all, there were no longer villains afoot, secrets being kept, and dangers to vanquish. Nothing could possibly go wrong from this moment on…

Right?


End file.
